Hell is Too Sweet
by harleybanks
Summary: There is no logical reason why a dude should like Buttercup. Some internal monologuing and fluff. Butch/Sedusa, but it's really Butch/Buttercup.


**Hell is Too Sweet**

There is no logical reason why a dude should like Buttercup.

No, seriously. Why? Why would any guy like her? First of all, physically, there's really nothing to her. She's fit, which is probably good, but what about all the soft, squishy wonderful parts that most women have? Honestly, where are the tits? And that hair – God, that _hair! _Girls should never have short hair. Ever. At least grow it out past your ears. Thankfully, it's not too short, but the jet-black shag thing makes her look like a dude. It fact, she really does look like a dude. No tits, no ass, and short-ass hair – instant dude. Or at least a dyke, you know?

Though her face… well… maybe that's different. The dark eyeliner stains around her acid green eyes can make any guy shiver. Not to mention how much they look bruised most of the time. Actually, they probably _are_ bruised most of them time, huh? And come to think of it, those lips… those perpetually pouting plump lips... they might just be fat and just stained blood-red. But those bruises… The dark purple and mustard yellow spots spray-painted on her skin. The jagged cuts on her cheek, her arm, her thigh, her neck. The crunch of leaves beneath her over-sized combat boots. The jingle of hand-cuffs slapping against her hip (_handcuffs…)_ The perfect shape of the white tank-top clinging to her torso.

Oh, God.

But that's just her looks! I mean, her personality? Her fucking personality. Totally kills whatever might be there. What a bitch! I mean, _really_. She spits venom like a cobra and scratches skin like a tiger. And if you really want your balls handed to you on a rusty skewer, you can count on Buttercup. She can beat _any_ guy at _any_ sport, then hock a loogie on 'em and call it a day. Fucking. Bitch.

But… _damn_. That smile – the knowing smirk on her lips matched with the smoky, heavy-lidded eyes – a permanent look of "I dare you."

Oh. My. God. I'm shaking.

I love her. There is no logical reason why I should love her. But I love her. I wanna sink my teeth into every bit of that. I wanna see that face staring into my soul with that same aggressive look. I wanna hear her throaty roar in all its wild glory. I wanna taste the blood and sweat off her lips. I wanna get a whiff of her tangy musk.

Too bad she hates me. Too bad I hate her, too.

I see the glowing green rainbow streak through the sky, followed shortly by a pink and a blue one. Another multi-eyed, scaly, orange creature smashes his clawed fist into a building nearby, sending rocks and debris all over the streets. She spirals into the monster's face and explodes, fists and fury flying. She zips here – _wham! _She ricochets off there – _pow! _She spins like a twister, knocking the monster off its feet and drilling him into the pavement.

God damn.

I found out a bit ago that I smile. I smile every time I see her. I smile when she's fighting a monster, I smile when she's kicking some mugger's ass, and I smile when she's smashing my teeth out. Hey – that's the closest I'm gonna get to get to seeing those eyes up close. Sometimes, in really brutal battles (because what other fights _do_ we have?), I can taste the musky rage wafting off her battered body. This is what heaven is like; hell is too sweet.

"Whatcha lookin' at?"

I tore my eyes off the window and turned to Sedusa – or Ima, at the moment, since we were in public. She stared at me, her Monroe-blonde wig curling around her face, her ruby lips turned up in a smirk. Her pale white face glowed in the golden lamplight of the diner booth. She wrapped her fingers around a tall glass of water.

"Nothing," I lied, scratching my spiky hair and sneaking another glance out the window.

"Little bitch is a show-off," Sedusa snickered. She nodded out the window clicked her nails against her glass.

"Yeah," I agreed quietly, casting my eyes down to the crusty wooden table in front of me. I dug my nails in my knee, pressing the jean fabric into my skin, trying desperately to settle my trembling. Honestly, my shakes were worse than a fucking hard-on in public. Dead giveaway.

"Mmm, what are you itching for, Puppy?" Sedusa asked quietly. I chuckled, a shaky, nervous chuckle. Suddenly, something slid up my leg, pressing hard between my thighs. I winced, my eyes rolling back into my head. Sedusa rubbed her foot across my thigh, a small smile on her face.

"I think I know," she answered for herself. Then, after one last stroke, she tucked her feet back under the table. I bit my lip.

"But first," Sedusa started, holding up a finger. "You still need to fetch Mommy's presents."

"Yeah," I muttered, vaguely remembering the jewelry she wanted me to get her. I should really be doing it now, what with the girls busy with that monster. But… fuck it.

"Once that's done, we can head back to my place for whatever you want," Sedusa purred.

"Yeah," I said once more. I looked up at her, gazing at the sly look dancing on her face. I forced a smile, my eyebrows rising. Stupid bitch. It's a good thing she can't read minds. I turned and looked back out the window. A bolt of green skidded to a halt several feet in front of the window. For a split second, Buttercup looked up, a trail of blood dripping down her brow, her chest heaving. And for a split second, I saw that look: her soft, narrowed eyes staring ahead, the playful smirk on her lips. Then, she was gone, another bolt of green rocketing back to the monster a few blocks away.

I shuddered, warmth erupting in my lower gut. I turned to Sedusa, the same fake-ass grin on her face. Whatever I want? Fuck you, bitch. I don't want you.

I want _her_.


End file.
